And Freedom Tastes of Reality
by AmazinglyMe
Summary: Bobby’s like that. There’s black and there’s white, there's remembering and there's forgetting, there’s abandoning and there’s staying." John takes a road trip. Bobby/John friendship fic.


_A/N: _Me again (yes, again!) catching up (yes, still!) with fic from my LJ. Enjoy!

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He's pretty sure he's in North Dakota, though it really could be South. He's never been one for paying much attention to maps, and driving down nameless highways in the middle of the night doesn't lend itself to clarity.

Still, it's definitely one of the Dakotas where he wanders into the local convenience store. He needs to buy more road trip essentials -- Doritos, Mountain Dew, and some Gatorade if he's feeling particularly healthy. He pays impatiently with the money that isn't his -- he doesn't even remember where he got it anymore, really. It's when he slides back into the driver's seat that it happens.

He never expects them, when they come, even though he should by now. A sudden, vivid burst of memory. He pretends they're unwelcome.

_It'll be awesome,_ he had said, eyes lit, _just us, and a car, and the road. No, no rules, none of this crap. Just driving around._

_To where?_ Bobby had asked, one eyebrow up, torn between a frown and laughter.

_Nowhere,_ John had said, _that's the point. Jesus Bobby, you're not very good at this rebel stuff are you?_

To tell the truth -- and he doesn't often -- he's starting to think he's not very good at it either.

The thing is that rebelling against the bad guys isn't really rebelling at all. It's more like being one of the good guys. Which is what he rebelled against in the first place.

He lets the memory linger, a strange after-taste in the back of his mind, as he drives and drives and drives.

He's always been a good driver. Logically, that shouldn't be true. Bobby had told him that once, in a fit of frustration.

_Mr. Summers says you have to be patient and responsible and focused,_ he had spat, emphasizing each word with a kick toward the tire, _so why the hell can't I do it?_

Which was all a little over the top for Bobby, but then, Bobby was used to being good at things. John had smiled a little.

_You know what else you have to do?_ he'd said, with a little bit of a smirk and mostly just thought. _Relax._

Which Bobby had never been good at.

John presses his foot to the gas pedal and drives south.

It turns out that North-or-South Dakota was North Dakota, which means he's in South Dakota now. Unless he crossed yet another state line, in which case he has no idea where he is.

He doesn't really mind. After years of feeling angry and aimless, it's nice to feel calm and aimless.

He drives in the middle of the night, because then there are shadows and strange, blurring lines to look at, and he doesn't have to think, much. Doesn't have to think about how maybe it isn't as easy to quit the Brotherhood as just saying you quit. Doesn't have to think about how he hasn't turned on the news in two weeks. Doesn't have to think about how he dashed off a postcard to Bobby when he was in North Dakota.

Except he does think about that, sometimes.

(_Bobby --_

_I'm in North-or-South Dakota. One of those two. I never paid much attention in Geography, right? I probably should've.  
-- John_)

Which he's pretty sure will make Bobby kind of mad. He's the kind of guy who thinks that if you're going to abandon your friends and strike out for Somewhere Else you should know where you are.

John takes the next fork in the road and heads west, thinks inexplicably of history class, of Bobby reading the textbook aloud in a mock-serious voice (one in the morning and he's trying to help John study for tomorrow's test). _Go west young man._ And wouldn't Bobby be surprised to learn John actually remembered something from school?

Bobby might be surprised to learn that John remembers anything from Westchester actually. Bobby's like that. There's black and there's white, there's remembering and there's forgetting, there's abandoning and there's staying.

Which is why the postcard's going to make him angry, probably. It's a shade of gray. Bobby hates those.

Things are simple when you don't know where you're going. John likes that. There's the steering wheel, and the bright yellow line, and the half-empty bag of Doritos next to him. You can drive right through the shades of gray, because they don't matter. You have places to go.

Bobby might like that too, John thinks, and decides to write another postcard.

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_Notes:_

o1. Written as gift fic for dragonsinger on LJ.

o2. Feedbackfeedbackfeedback. I love it stupid amounts.


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